Your Love is Strong
by scrub456
Summary: "The hug" from s4e2 retold with a series of 221b ficlets. *This fic came about as a challenge for a friend. It IS a Johnlock fic, though very early stages.*
1. Two things you told me

The first day of this, of us, might have been the last.

The line of your shoulders. The shadows under your eyes. Your essence, the heart of you, fading before me.

You would have gone, and that would have been the end. Twenty minutes early, a permanent finality.

It was desperation, nothing more, that compelled me.

"John, are you okay?"

"No. I… I'm not okay. I'm never gonna be okay." Your resolute despondency that day haunts me still. "But we… I just have to accept it. It is what it is, and what it is…" Your eyes met mine for the first time in what felt an eternity. What I saw, what I feared you'd seen, mistakenly, in return, was goodbye. "It's shit."

In my weakened state, with my faculties not fully recovered - you are guarded still, cautiously tentative, despite my efforts to calm your fears and ease your self-flagellation - my most provocative rebuttal could not delay your retreat.

Then a reprieve, a stay of execution. A miracle (perhaps my mind is not fully well), despite, or in spite of, the source. A debt repaid; the woman's life for mine. For ours.

One obscene notification, and there you were, open before me. Your heart spoken between the words. A deduction, and suddenly, salvation.

"Happy Birthday."


	2. You are strong

There are two things you told me that first day. _Our_ first day.

You argue more than two things were spoken in those precarious minutes. Minutes that almost were not.

You granted absolution I did not ask for. I did not deserve. I did not offer forgiveness in return. I am reminded of this daily in the way you gentle me, retreating back to seek permission for the passion, the strength, coiled and waiting just under your surface.

It is what you feel you need, this restraint. Though I disagree, I oblige.

It was in the admission of your need, your sense of failure, that you revealed to me again who you truly are. Who I have always known you to be, even in weakness.

You are strength.

You were so strong, standing in our - in _my_ \- sitting room, making confession before a spectre who was no less real for my lack of seeing her.

"I wanted more."

 _As did I. Even still._ Your gaze remained fixed on nothing. Your words not for me.

"Still do. I'm not the man you thought I was. Never could be. That's the point."

Your bloody courage. This story, _ours,_ is about your strength.

"Who you think I am," you turned your focus to me, "that's the man I want to be."


	3. And you love me

Two things you told me.

You are strong.

And, you love me.

Me. _You_ love _me._

You told me.

Not with words.

Not on our first day.

You spoke with your eyes. You looked to me, the weight of confession lingering there. Wanting. Waiting. Never daring to hope.

A sound on the street, and your focus wavered. I watched, heart failing, as you glimpsed something - I will never know what, or who - and you tried to hide.

From me.

From words unsaid.

From the phantom. The anguish and exhaustion. Fear and failures.

The future.

Your face in your hands, your worst disguise.

You meant what you said. With a sob you shattered.

You love me. You let me see.

I have wanted so deeply, and so long, for you to need me. I was desperate for it. I despaired the tatty rug collecting your precious tears.

I am a selfish man.

The distance between us unbearable, I stepped to you. I dared not breathe, for fear of startling you away. Despite my hesitation, you swayed toward me. A magnetic pull.

You love me.

"It's okay." This is okay. It's okay to want. To let go.

 _To let me._

You did. You let me hold you together. One hand curled around your arm, I slid the other up your back.


	4. Would you sell yourself

You hugged me, once. You hugged me, and you meant it.

Or was it that I believed you?

The worst day of my life, meant to be your best. All for what?

Vows broken. Choices made. A terrible cost. Your battered heart laid out before me.

 _Let me,_ I silently implored. My fingers finally brushed the fine hair at your nape, your skin warm, pulse strong, beneath my palm.

"It's not okay. We're not okay." Your breath hitched and your sorrow crested anew.

"It's..." I hesitated, my other hand, rested on your shoulder, eased its hold as I waited for you to pull away. "Are we not?"

You could have retreated. Should have, long ago. I felt the tremor of fingers, your left hand, grip the front of my shirt. Your forehead, fevered with the exertion of your grief and shame, pressed over my heart. "No." I felt more than heard your whispered reply.

"John…" I breathed into your hair. With my arm across your back, I pulled you close, your head tucked below my chin. "Oh, John."

"I only… ever…." With your right hand you smoothed my tear damp shirt, somehow finding the small, bullet shaped, scar beneath the fabric. "...hurt you."

"And I you." My own tears fell as I placed a kiss on your brow.


	5. For the one you found

You never cease to amaze me.

Without reluctance you responded, a simple press of lips, above my heart. The warmth and pressure, so gentle, barely a whisper, enough to force the air from my lungs.

The magnitude of the moment settled upon us. You took a single, halting step back, one hand reaching behind you. Realization took a moment too long. Before I could guide you to a chair, _your_ chair, I eased you to the floor, kneeling beside you. Your knees pulled to your chest like a child, you rested against me.

My discomfort my penance.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled against my chest. "I can't…"

"John." My arms found their way around you, protecting, shielding.

"M'too broken. Angry." A shuddering sob. "Used up."

"It's okay." Another kiss to your brow.

You placed your hand once more over my heart. "Is it okay to…" With a huff, unnecessary embarrassment and shame, you pressed a kiss to my shoulder. "I just…"

"Hmm." I gathered you more closely to me. "I have a terrible suspicion all of _this_ is what makes us human."

"Even you?" You peered up at me, crystalline eyes finally clearing. A shimmer of life returned.

"No, John." I cupped your jaw with my hand; wiped your tears with my thumb. "Even you."

Together we breathed.


End file.
